The Culling (The Torch Keeper)

  The chain of his ID tag snaps off his neck as I clench it in my fist.

  Then I push him off me and he rolls onto his back with a thud. I wipe the mixture of tears and blood from my eyes. A blurry figure comes into focus.

  It’s Ophelia, standing over me, still clutching a sharpened bone fragment in her hand. The white bone is coated in red. Its sharp end still drips chunks of the Recruit’s throat onto the ground, plop, plop, plop. Her face is spattered with red flecks that stream from her eyes down her cheeks like bloody tears.

  She grins, chilling the blood flowing both inside and outside my body.

  “I wasn’t going to let him hurt you,” she giggles. Her voice sounds muffled, as if I’m listening to it underwater, slow, warped. The dark fires of dusk blazes in her eyes.

  “Lucian, come on!” Digory’s muffled voice shouts down from the carrier’s hatchway as it hovers above.

  The next few seconds feel like a dream as I somehow haul my numb body up the ladder, after Ophelia and into the aircraft.

  The hatch seals.

  “There’s just enough juice to make it back to base,” Cypress grunts from the pilot’s chair.

  “Punch it!” Gideon yells.

  Then Cypress is gunning the ship toward Infiernos. Below us, the Fleshers are a vague blur of nightmares carving a dusty path right toward our base.

  Digory grabs me by the shoulders, his eyes wide as he stares at my blood-soaked body. “Where are you hurt?”

  “It’s not mine,” I hear myself say.

  The cockpit speakers crackle to life.

  “Attention! Red alert! All troops return to base STAT. The perimeter fences will be activated in T-minus one minute,” a computerized voice blares through the encroaching night.

  On the cabin monitors, we see the pillars of the closest fence blinking yellow, signaling that they’re preparing to power up and seal off the base.

  If we don’t make it to the fences in time, we’ll be trapped outside in the open … with them.

  The only sounds in the cabin are the thrum of the engines mingled with our breathing and the blaring of the alarms.

  The emergency lights blink faster and faster until they’re a solid yellow. There’s not much time left and we’re still about a mile away …

  I clench my fist, feeling the Recruit’s ID tag digging into my skin as Cypress banks the carrier in between two of the sonic pylons, just as the lights go from amber to bright red—

  “Perimeter fences activated. The base has been sealed.”

  Turbulence rocks the cabin and, for a split second I brace myself to be torn apart. But then we’re gliding down and landing on the roof of our barracks, roughly, but all in one piece.

  Once the hatch is opened, we limp down the gangway. The faces around me are a mixture of tears and relief. We cling to each other, hugging, squeezing. We did it. We made it through. Staring at the bloodied ID tag still clutched in my hand, I find it hard to feel anything.

  I’m not sure how long we stand like that, but when we finally pull apart, we’re ringed by Slade and a dozen other Imps.

  Her eyes look anxious. “Did you find anything?”

  Digory pulls out Cordoba’s blood-stained badge and thrust it into her hand. “He didn’t make it. None of them did. But we’re fine, thank you, Sir.”

  The Sergeant swallows hard and hands the badge off to one of her subordinates. “Congratulations, Recruits.” Her usual disdain is replaced by a cross between disappointment and surprise.

  She never expected to see us again.

  Alive.

  Slade’s smile is devoid of mirth, malice, or any emotion whatsoever. “You’ve successfully completed your orientation period and survived Basic Pre-Trial Prep. Tomorrow you graduate—and, as a reward, you will have the opportunity to visit with your Incentives one last time before the Trials begin.”

  Twenty

  Graduation Day. On this last day before the Trials, the Establishment has moved us from our cramped and sparse barracks to the Officer’s Lodge. Each of us has been provided with a private luxury suite—in honor of our accomplishment.

  I barely recognize myself in the floor-length mirror. I’m not used to seeing such a crisp reflection, especially one that’s decked out in fancy clothes I’d never expect to wear in a million years. My dress uniform is made up of a stark-white, long-sleeved shirt; cobalt-blue pants with a complementing vest; and a long-tailed coat that’s embroidered with silver brocade the same color as the buckle on my leather belt. A white silk scarf is neatly coiled around my neck, matching the gloves on my hands. I shift my weight in a pair of gleaming black boots.

  The garments feel strange, constricting yet cushy against my skin. I sigh. When I first arrived at Infiernos, I wouldn’t have had any idea how to put this stuff on. I turn my head from side to side. Whatever was in those cleansers in that biometric voice-activated shower I just took has left my hair a shiny, wavy black. My skin seems healthy and tanned, not burned. I actually look … well … not too shabby. A wide grin spreads across my face.

  After what’s seemed like forever, the moment I’ve been longing for these past few months is here.

  I’m finally going to see Cole and Mrs. Bledsoe again!

  I let loose a chuckle. They probably won’t even recognize me.

  Neither will Digory.

  My elation evaporates, along with my saliva.

  This isn’t just a graduation ceremony. It could very well be the last moment I share with the people I love most in this entire world.

  By the time the bullet-shaped Trans-Cab shuttles me over to the steel-domed Academy Pavilion, there’s already a procession filing into the building in full military regalia, complete with marching band. But despite the legion of soldiers, the only sound I can hear is my heart thudding in my ears.

  My eyes scan the troops as I pass them. They’ve stopped marching and are frozen like statues. Hundreds of eyes creep over me, like a swarm of cockroaches devouring a piece of bread, as I make my way up the steps and through the front doors of the Pavilion. Even the trumpeters have stopped playing their procession march, the last notes trapped by the atrium’s vaulted ceiling and bouncing back in discordant echoes.

  Even though I’ve completed Orientation and successfully made it all the way to graduation, these soldiers still see me, Lucian Spark, as a traitor to the Establishment. They’d never accept me into their ranks. The contempt they feel for me now is just as potent as it was on the day I stepped off the freighter ten weeks ago. If not more so.

  I want to shout at them at the top of my lungs, tell them I don’t give a damn, that the last thing on earth I want is to be one of them. But I can’t make a scene. Not with so much at stake. And they know that.

  The only thing I care about is seeing Cole at last.

  Inhaling deeply, I raise my head high and match their stares until they start to fidget and look away. Then I dash up marble steps two at a time to the balcony, my eyes searching the crowd for the others.

  Cypress is standing not more than ten feet away, peering over the railing at the crowd below. She looks stunning in her uniform. Her raven hair’s been washed and combed to a lustrous sheen, plaited at the sides and joined in a long braid that hangs down her back. Her skin looks like it’s been polished to a smooth creamy finish, with just the right hint of pink on her cheeks to complement her wine-colored lips.

  She could almost pass for one of those princesses pictured in the Establishment’s banned fairy tales—except for her eyes, which are vacant and puffy. In the three months that I’ve known her, I’ve never seen her look so … defeated.

  I walk over to her. “What’s wrong? Why haven’t you gone into the auditorium?”

  She barely glances at me. “Not sure I can face them. Don’t know what to say.”

  “Them? You mean your Incentives?” I sit down bes
ide her.

  She nods. I can feel her shoulder trembling against mine.

  I sense that now’s the time she’ll be the most receptive. I can’t help her unless I know exactly what’s troubling her, even though there’s probably nothing I can do. Reaching out, I hesitate a moment, then take her hand, expecting her to rip it away and shove me. But she does neither.

  “Cypress. I know it’s none of my business, but after the Fallen Five disappeared, how did you … I mean … ?”

  “How did I survive?” Her smile is laced with bitterness. “Believe me, I’ve asked myself that question many times over the years. When my brother was recruited, his only options were my mother and me. Two out of the ten Incentives who had no one to fight for us after the Recruits disappeared. Since it couldn’t be proven one way or another that the Fallen Five had deserted, the Establishment decided that rather than shelve us, the adults would be taken to the mines.” She pauses. “I never saw my mother again.”

  She looks away as if she’s reliving that painful memory. I can see the anguish etched into her face as if by a powerful chisel.

  “I’m so sorry, Cypress. I know what losing a mom feels like.”

  “She was one of the lucky ones. Probably died within a year or two.” She shakes her head. “Us children weren’t as fortunate. We were forced into servitude at the Emporiums. Harmony House.”

  The Emporiums. Centers of unspeakable perversions, where every depravity can be purchased by sick minds in possession of enough currency.

  Her eyes squeeze shut. “I was only six at the time. Unfortunately, I was a very pretty child … ”

  “I’m so sorry.” I squeeze her hand. “But with your brother missing and your mother dead, who are your Incentives?”

  She takes a deep breath and stares at me, her eyes hollow, empty wells. “My two children.”

  I can barely contain my rage. “Those animals. They took an innocent young girl and—”

  She sneers. “I’m the animal, Lucian. I wanted to have a child, replenish the stock. Though I didn’t bargain on twins.”

  I grab both her wrists. “But why—?”

  “So I’d be deemed tainted and decommissioned. Nothing spoils the mood more in the pleasure pits than a girl who’s in the breeding stage.” Her eyes meet mine. “Boys have a longer shelf life.”

  I grip Cypress tighter, this time to steady myself.

  “So you see, I used my own children—gave them up as ransom—to get transferred from that hell hole to a work farm without ever once laying eyes on them.” A chuckle dies in her throat. “And now it’s all come full circle and I’m getting exactly what I deserve. No wonder my brother abandoned me. He could sense what kind of terrible, selfish person I am.”

  “Cypress, don’t … ”

  Her eyes grow soft. “I never told you this, and I’ll deny it if you ever repeat it, but I really admire you, Lucian. The way you love your little brother … the way you’ll do anything to be with him again, unlike my brother. Maybe that’s why a part of me still hates you.”

  “Maybe you’re wrong about your brother. Don’t you think it’s possible that something could have prevented him from coming after you, something beyond his control?” Thoughts of our experience with the Fleshers turn my blood cold. I block them out as best I can. “I mean, you have no way of knowing that he abandoned you.”

  “Maybe someday I’ll find him and I’ll be able to hear the explanation from his own lips. Until then, the Orestes I knew is dead to me.”

  A jolt rips through my body. My brain bobs in my skull. How do I tell her what became of her brother?

  “Spark? Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

  I shake my head. “We’d better get inside.”

  Every time the door to the small reception room swings open my heart surges—then deflates like an old tire at the sight of yet another stranger crossing the threshold. It’s been over thirty minutes already—the Graduation Ceremony is about to start—and still no sign of Cole or Mrs. Bledsoe.

  And Digory’s still a no-show, too. I’m finally going to find out who his Incentives are, find out how who is so important to him.

  Who it is that he loves …

  A high-pitched giggle echoes across the room. Ophelia’s jumping up and down, embracing a woman and a little girl. She reminds me of that naïve girl who bounced into Slade’s welcoming-committee speech on the first day we arrived at Infiernos, so long ago it seems now. The sight of their tender family reunion causes sadness to cluster in my throat, making it hard to swallow.

  What’s taking Cole and Mrs. Bledsoe so long? I’m about to rip through my skin.

  “Don’t panic, Spark,” Gideon says, as if reading my mind. “I’m sure your family will be here any minute.”

  He’s standing alongside two other people, a man and a woman with shell-shocked eyes, their drab, plain clothes in stark contrast to his neatly pressed uniform. The woman’s graying hair is twisted into a bun, resembling a wrung-out washcloth. Even though the skin under her eyes is dark and puffy, her stare is strikingly similar to Gideon’s.

  The man has his arms folded. His salt-and-pepper hair recedes from his forehead like an outgoing tide, draining what’s left of its color. The tip of his aquiline nose veers sharply to the left as if it’s been broken.

  “These must be your folks,” I say, trying to draw them in with a smile. But it’s as though I’m not even there.

  Gideon fidgets, his eyes bouncing back and forth between the couple and me. “Mom, Dad, this is—” He looks at me pointedly. “This is my friend, Lucian Spark.”

  Friends. Yes. After Cassius, I never thought I’d be able to call anyone else that ever again. But with everything we Recruits have been through, we’re bonded now for the rest of our lives, however short that might turn out to be.

  I hold out my hand. “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Warrick.”

  Mrs. Warrick stares at my hand as if it’s covered in manure. “We know who you are.”

  Gideon’s eyes swell. “Mother!”

  My extended hand drops to my side.

  Deep fissures burrow into the corners of Mr. Warrick’s eyes. “This is a family discussion. You’re not welcome here.” His voice is gruff.

  “No, Dad! Please!” Gideon steps between us.

  I clap Gideon’s back and can’t help notice his wince. “It’s okay. Really.” I turn and nod at the Warricks, then look back at Gideon. “You should be very proud of your son. Enjoy your evening.”

  As I walk away, I catch a few of Mrs. Warrick’s hushed words. “An enemy of the state! You don’t want to be mixed up with him. You know I always do what’s best for you—”

  But her voice is drowned out by the thumping of blood ringing in my ears.

  Something must be wrong …

  Pushing my way toward the tall glass doors at the rear of the hall, I almost crash into Ophelia and her family.

  “I’m so sorry,” I mumble.

  Ophelia is beaming. “It’s okay. I was coming over to introduce you to Mama and Maddie.”

  The girl’s a couple of years younger than Ophelia. Whereas Ophelia’s hair is—was—a tangle of curls, her sister’s hangs limp and lifeless. It matches the blankness of her narrow eyes, which are hammocked by pronounced folds of flesh. Her forehead is broad on her small head. Her tattered dress drapes her body with all the finesse of rumpled laundry on a clothesline.

  Ophelia hugs her close. “This is my little sister Madeleine.”

  Madeleine drops her eyes and ducks behind her sibling, peeking up at me from the shield of Ophelia’s shoulder.

  I wink at her. “Hello, Madeleine. My name’s Lucian.”

  “She’s a little shy around new people.” Ophelia squeezes her again. “It’s all right, Maddie,” she coos. “You don’t have to be afraid.”

  I peer around
Ophelia and stare into the child’s eyes, smiling. “What a pretty dress.”

  She cups a hand over her smile and looks down at her shoes. “Nife to meetchu,” she mumbles.

  Her mother sighs. “For goodness sakes, Ophelia. Don’t let her”—she glares at Madeleine—“cling to you like that. It’s embarrassing enough we have to parade her around in front of everyone without worrying about her wrinkling your uniform.”

  Madeleine’s eyes puddle. Her smile fades and she shrinks into the background like Ophelia’s shadow.

  Despite their mother’s warnings, Ophelia kneels in front of her sister and wraps her in a hug. “Don’t worry, sweetie. Mama’s just nervous. You look sooo beautiful tonight. That’s why everyone’s staring at you instead of ugly ol’ me!” She plants a kiss on her forehead.

  Mrs. Juniper rolls her eyes and smiles at me, exposing pointy teeth. Her resemblance to Ophelia is uncanny. Sure, there are a few more creases the cheap cosmetics can’t conceal, but it’s like looking at Ophelia fifteen years from now. Despite the worn fabric of her dress, she wears it with an elite air over her hourglass figure.

  Her eyes twinkle. “You’re Spark, aren’t you?”

  I nod, bracing myself for the same disdain I received from Gideon’s folks. Instead, she surprises me by clamping her arms around me in a tight hug and planting wet kisses on both my cheeks. A hand slithers across the back of my neck. “Such a bright boy. And handsome, too.” Her lips brush against my ear. “Pity we had to meet under such … trying … circumstances. Perhaps we can work out an arrangement that will be mutually beneficial to both you and my daughter … ”

  She rambles on and on, something about working with Ophelia to eliminate the competition during the Trials, but her words become an insect’s drone as I focus on the scene taking place just behind her.

  Two sets of bright green eyes are peering up at Cypress, belonging to a little boy and girl not much older than Cole. Her twins. Their hair is shiny black, just like Cypress’s; their cheeks are flushed with pink. Both are dressed in neatly pressed matching amber jumpsuits. Their little hands are entwined.